Alas,my typewriter keys continue to bark. The beasts have an insatiable (not capable of being fully satisfied) appetite for the fleshy bits. My life has become a widow to this book I am writing. The business of volumizing pages is no business at all, but an outpouring of the most strange and twisted endurance. My news mistress is whispering to me with her undulating current affairs. I blowtorch prose across the page while fighting the handcuffs of my limitations. I should just be pleased I am not incarcerated in the halls of institutional thinking. No, and I am more a prisoner on the hasten from the hounds of conformity. My time on the chain gang is done till death attain us section. Oh,the news, she is so lovely with her ample bosom promising absurdity, and adventure and the spectacle of the tragic reveal. I long to feel her steely embrace. I will accept her invitation with alacrity once I have silenced these barking keys and their thirst for a bound volume of the intrepid (brave in the face of danger) tales of the citizen journalist. So,until then my journalistic friends, I will swirl the Red Bull over the rocks, and place on goggles to protect tortured eyes and let the strange dance continue.
Source: cnn.com